


and all that's best of dark and bright

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Acceptance, Death, F/M, Growth, Imagery, Love, experimental fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet this maiden, with her scintillating charm and lark swift laughter, was a tragic beauty. Doomed to love a man enamored with death, enraptured with another more vile and wanting—he was in love with death and she, in love with him...Long ago, his night was made starless and he was taught to shut away the light—banish it from his presence for its blinding beauty was distracting. Unnecessary.</p><p>Ciel Phantomhive through the years, relentless in his pursuit of vengeance while the lady who loves him is forced to look on. (And then, the roles reverse.)</p><p>A gift for Indochine (also midnight-in-town) because I love her blog to bits :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and all that's best of dark and bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Indochine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indochine/gifts).



She seemed to glow when light was cast upon her, skin luminescent and fair, moldavite eyes glimmering. There was something of the dawn in her soul and spirit; she was more luminous than the morning star and twice as pure. A genuine beauty—Alectrona come down from heaven. Her place was by the freesia blossoms, pale pink and white, fragrance honeyed and sweet. Her voice was bright, filling high vaulted chambers with an incandescent ether, the fresh pale gold of daybreak—first blush and first kiss.

Yet this maiden, with her scintillating charm and lark swift laughter, was a tragic beauty. Doomed to love a man enamored with death, enraptured with another more vile and wanting—he was in love with death and she, in love with him. It was a Grecian play brought back to life for this jewel crowned king dressed in sable and slate. He despised the world and possessed no rose colored glass—only a vivid, somber benediction that he carried with him everywhere. Long ago, his night was made starless and he was taught to shut away the light—banish it from his presence for its blinding beauty was distracting. Unnecessary.

Even when he left the depths of Abaddon and returned to Gaia's best loved home, he brought with him a scholar of Erebus with crow dark hair and wakeful carnelian eyes. This lordling grew so comfortable in his rich damask embrace that he surged deeper into the hellish depths, looking for reprieve. And above him, haloed in the sky, his beloved wept silent tears for even if he sought to protect her, his heart was no longer hers to heal.

* * *

"I shall leave Elizabeth very soon, won't I?" It is not so much a question as it is a confirmation—the final verity, the final truth.

His butler gives a virulent, all too satisfied smirk that is both cloying and comforting. He places his right hand on his chest, a mockery of subservience. "Indeed, my lord. Though I ask you not to think otherwise—possibility awaits."

His master laughs—sharp and ungrateful. "This is no longer a vaudeville, butler. You need not act anymore. A week from now—perhaps a fortnight if they're clever—we will have extracted the revenge I have been longing for." He looks at the demon from the corner of his eye. "And you will feast, I suppose. Dining with savagery and elegance while I fade away from this world."

"It won't be painful." He says this like a reassurance, a blithe, indifferent caress that makes this entire situation _comical._ Here death was, looming but three feet away, so detached and unaware and feigning comfort to the best of his ability. "You should know by now young master that I am ever yours to command—even when it comes to the payment of your soul."

" _My_ soul." He emphasizes. "Mine and mine alone. You will not touch Elizabeth or any of the Midfords do you understand?"

He bows. "Of course not, my lord. I am a man of principle."

"And you will disappear from this realm upon my end?"

"I may—at least for a little while." He rises. "I pity men in all their wretched misery and, despite what you may think my lord, I actually hate to plague the wretches."

* * *

In the end, it takes the faustian pair two years to eradicate the cult and the commandant behind it. But during those two years Ciel turned eighteen years old and married his Lady Elizabeth. Her skin was the color of the moon and she smiled so beautifully when she walked down the aisle, godetias and snapdragons perfuming the air.

Ciel has never hated his butler so greatly. Was it not enough for his soul to be eaten, consumed by the damnable liege of hell? Was it not enough that the devil's seal rested on his eye? That he served as an odeum for the archfiend's personal amusement? _Was that not enough?_ Ever since the fire and the destruction of his natural self, Ciel had grown cold and selfish with his wants and desires. There was no one left for him to truly care about, no memory that he wished to hold onto as distraction was the death of man when duty called him forward.

But Elizabeth.

She was meant to stay pure and good and free—unburdened by death and his macabre fate. Why could he not have that? Why could he not provide this one simple thing for the girl he sought to make happy? If he was meant to perish in the land of always winter, then for the love of god, let her stay by summer's cathedral beside the still blooming roses.

Yet the demon was still not quite satisfied. He would not be denied his final act.

So he dressed his lord and master in a fine cut suit and beautiful silk cravat and watched him marry the girl who would soon become a widow.

* * *

He resided in the moonlit tavern of the goddess Selene, delphinium eyed and silvery skinned. From the conclave of black ivy on blue moonstone, the Earl of Phantomhive felt himself plunged into a black tide that crushed, entirely, his heart and lungs. Slowly and slowly, bit by bit, he felt himself lose consciousness; his body no longer responded to the commands of his mind. The form that held him was a starving demon, a black monstrous form with haunting violet eyes that seemed to ache with greed.

_At last._

The demon had his prize and the earl was no more. His place had long since been decided—he could not live on the green earth above, drinking sunshine and laughing under the blue sky. His skin was too pallid—milky pale, almost translucent—and his heart too dark, ravaged by the sadistic cruelty of time. The only palace for him would be one below sanctity, hidden from heaven's gaze for his soul to dwell in for all eternity.

But the sanguine plots of demons and devils were pierced through, ever so slightly, by the sword of a British shieldmaiden with sun in her hair and life in her eyes. From the murky depths of the dark abyss, the earl could see a moving picture of hope and happiness—from above there was his wife, dancing to the waltz of a Viennese composer. There was his wife, laughing as she spoke to the clever German scientist with short black hair and bawdy wit. There was his wife, dueling Charles Grey in a immaculate arena with only the sound of metal on metal clanging through.

There was his wife, cradling their son in her arms as she sang to him a French lullaby.

He had dark cobalt hair, skin the color of the moon, and beautiful sapphire eyes.

From the anguished cavern of lost perdition, he could see his son babbling his first words because _of course_ he would have learned to speak before he could walk. He took after him in so many ways—clever and shrewd and wanting. Greedily basking in the praise of his tutors or the affection of his iron willed grandmother; studying the fundamentals of chess so as to best all those around him.

Yet he was so like Lizzy, daughter of the sun, in a multitude of beautiful ways. Full of mischievous joy and puckish humor, delighting in smiles and laughter. He loved so dearly those closest to him and expressed that affection openly—tenderly. And from his place in hell Ciel could see mother and son, walking along the garden path, his son's plump little hand fisted around his mother's finger as he toddled ahead.

And there the little boy would bend down, his chubby hand full of carefully pruned blue roses, and he would smile a bright, beautiful smile—the smile Ciel lost all those years ago.

 _"For you, papa!"_ He cried joyously.

And Ciel, in hell, with only that glimmer of light above him, would smile in return.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Alectrona: goddess of the sun and daughter of Helios.
> 
> \- Freesia: meaning innocence, thoughtfulness, trust, friendship, and sweetness.
> 
> \- Abaddon: place of eternal torment/hell.
> 
> \- Gaia: mother earth.
> 
> \- Erebus: primeval god of darkness.
> 
> \- "I pity men…" adapted from Mephistopheles in Goethe's Faust. In a dialogue with god, Mephistopheles sees the world as so depraved that even his own temptations cannot equal the suffering and misery mankind brings unto itself.
> 
> \- Godetia flower meaning: pleasing. Snapdragon flower meaning: graciousness and concealment.
> 
> \- Selene: goddess of the moon and, some say, vampires.
> 
> \- Viennese composer: to really get the full impact of this phrase, I recommend you read my fic "and the sea loved the moon" which just gives some musical background to Ciel and Elizabeth.
> 
> A/N: I hope you liked this Indochine!


End file.
